


Wheels, Chains and Broken Things

by JJPK (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17992757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/JJPK
Summary: Tyrion Lannister tries to train a dragon while also attempting to control his heart. Meanwhile, Queen Daenerys starts having unexpected dreams. Tyrion/Daenerys.





	1. Chapter 1

"Tyrion…would you play me in a game of cyvasse tonight?" Daenerys asked her Hand after a long evening of council meetings at Dragonstone.

Tyrion Lannister had taught Daenerys Targaryen how to play cyvasse while they sailed together across the Narrow Sea. Dany had been unfamiliar with the game and he had enjoyed explaining the rules and basic strategic principles. Quickly, she had grown into one of the most formidable opponents Tyrion had encountered across a cyvasse board. Although she lacked Tyrion's experience and mastery of classic stratagems, her gameplay was unpredictable and frequently brilliant.

Tyrion happily complied with her request, as it had been a long time since he had the opportunity to play with his queen. He took out his golden and rubby-studded cyvasse set, arranged the boards on the table and began placing miniature dragons, elephants, horses, spearmen, crossbowmen, rabble and other pieces in their official places.

Daenerys poured two cups of wine and sat across from Tyrion.

Tyrion's heart pounded as he watched Daenerys quietly observe the board. As Daenery's skill at cyvasse had improved, Tyrion found himself more conflicted whenever they played. At first, he had been happy just to teach her. Now, part him wanted to prove his cleverness and worth as a Hand by continuing to win. Another part felt uncomfortable playing against his queen instead of with her.

They each made basic opening moves, keeping their dragon close and making measured sacrifices of rabble, spearmen and crossbowmen.

Then, Daenerys made a move that would seem phenomenally foolish if made by most players. Tyrion could tell from the audacity of her choice that she was either making a huge mistake or was baiting him with with the false simplicity of the play.

She smiled up at Tyrion as she leaned back in her chair, flashing him an expression that was a strange mixture of "I am just a young girl, what could I possibly know?" affectation and actual confusion.

He sighed, scratching his nose where his scars from the Battle of the Blackwater still itched. He tried to recall if there were any matches from Masters of Cyvasse that resembled the board formation he faced.

"You've been thinking so long," said Daenerys. "There is a funny look on your face. It's almost as if you're playing with yourself."

He pursed his lips and peered at her skeptically. Suddenly, he thought he recognized the strike she intended. He placed an elephant by the left of a spearman in defense of his king. Dany shook her head bemusedly, and he couldn't tell whether she was reacting good-humoredly to being foiled or with amusement that he thought he had prevailed.

Their play continued back and forth, with Daenerys making provocative moves that forced him to respond defensively while leaving her open to attack. By the end, Daenerys had hardly any pieces left on the board but was within spaces of securing victory. Tyrion brought them to a stalemate, with both of their dragons about to strike each of their respective Kings.

"That was a great game," said Tyrion. "I don't believe I've ever tied in cyvasse before."

"I'm not sure if I really like this game," said Daenerys wistfully, as she helped him to clean up. "I don't like how you have to sacrifice all of your common folk to keep around your elephants. Where is the game where the goal is to make the world better without inadvertently making it worse or getting yourself killed in the process?"

"I am not sure if that game has been invented yet, or whether it would be quite so fun."

"No, perhaps not…" she agreed.

"Daenerys Targaryen, where do you come from?"

"I don't know. Essos? Westeros, maybe? Valeria, originally, I believe…" There was a sad look in her eyes. She had told Tyrion of her many travels through different lands since her childhood. He knew she sometimes felt out of place even in her old family castle of Dragonstone. A pang in his heart went out to the lovely but outcast queen.

Tyrion had never met anyone quite like Daenerys before and her effect on him was undeniable. As he poured himself another glass of wine, Tyrion thought what a fool he was.

He knew falling for her was a bad idea- that he was her Hand and needed to remain impartial, to give her good advice for the establishment of her realm. He had told her to leave her lover Daario Naharis so that she could marry a lord who would help her win power and rule the realm. Besides considering himself a terrible choice for such a future ruler, Tyrion knew she could not possibly return his feelings and doubted he could survive another broken heart.

Tyrion had tried to stop his feelings, but to little avail. Trying not to fall for Daenerys was about as futile as trying not to slide down one of the slanted moon cells in the Eyrie.

"It's probably time we checked on the dragons," said Tyrion, putting the board game away on the lower rung of a shelf.

Daenerys' three dragons had become accustomed to the rocky cliffs of Dragonstone. When the queen and her Hand came to check on them at mealtimes, the dragons soared to land beside them. Daenerys greeted Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal. They responded by flapping their wings, wriggling their chests and stamping their claws.

Viserion reacted joyfully as she sniffed Tyrion. Tyrion scratched Viserion's chin while Viserion smoked and huffed.

Ever since he was a child, Tyrion Lannister had dreamed of dragons. He had read many books about the history of the Targaryen dynasty while secluded in Casterly Rock. Staring into flames, he would imagine towering over Casterly Rock on a dragon's back, experiencing the freedom of flight and unleashing fire as revenge on his sadistic father and sister.

Real dragons awed Tyrion even more than the legendary stories. Since he had first met them in Meereen, he had discovered how Daenery's dragons were each unique, with their own temperaments, intellects, likes and dislikes. Tyrion particularly noticed how Viserion reacted to his moods and nonverbal communication.

As Tyrion continued scratching Viserion's chin, the dragon's ears began to droop. Viserion yawned like a young princess, perhaps like Myrcella after a meal, then spun around and lay her long scaly tail tucked by her head.

Daenerys watched Tyrion out of the corner of her eye, a half smile on her lips.

"I've never seen Viserion respond to another person the way she responds to you," said Daenerys fondly. "I wish for you to become her rider."

"Me, your grace?"

"Well, who else? I can tell that you have thought about it," she said, cocking her eyebrows. "She is more bonded with you than with anyone else. But I am also afraid, I must admit. I worry that she might throw you off if you tried to mount her. Viserion is a very proud dragon and doesn't like to kneel to anyone."

Tyrion watched the sleeping dragon and he knew that Daenerys had a realistic concern. For though Viserion behaved like Myrcella when indulged, the dragon could also act out like Joffrey whenever anyone other than Daenerys tried to make it obey their commands.

"I suppose I can sympathize," said Tyrion. "I've always felt a certain kinship for dragons. Frightening as they can be at times, they seem to me rather misunderstood."

Daenerys nodded. "Many men speak of my children as if they had no feelings at all, as though they were merely ornaments to display or weapons to use in war."

"Funny, that's exactly how my father always saw his own children, though I suppose I am ill-suited as either ornament or weapon."

Daenerys looked at the sea beyond them. "I wouldn't know about that. You led the charge in the Battle of the Blackwater, did you not?"

"Yes, and received these scars as recompense."

"I like your scars," said Daenerys. "They are like my braids, signs of victory in battle."

Tyrion could feel himself blushing. It warmed his pride to hear her speak of his accomplishment so highly, though he couldn't agree on her opinion of his face.

"I'm not sure if that counts exactly as 'leading a charge.' Mostly I just gave a speech."

"So? Have you not said before that words can be weapons? I do not breathe fire, but I command my dragons to do so for me. Maybe you could persuade Viserion to let you ride her, if you knew how to speak proper Valerian."

Tyrion looked at the golden ridges of the Viserion's back. He could sense a connection between himself and the dragon, but he also wondered if he could manage such an unruly and massive creature. His Valerian, it was true, was rusty, with an out-of-date accent and grammar. And Viserion could become violent-tempered when provoked, spewing flame at all who tried to chain her.

That night, Tyrion had one of his dragon dreams.

In the dream, Tyrion was clutching Viserion's back as they soared through the clouds. Tyrion felt a rush of freedom and power as the dragon soared above the castle and into the clouds.

With that rush of freedom came a blurring of clarity. Tyrion's belly was full of wine and the intoxication of drink mixed with the natural high of flight to create a mad, senseless rush.

At a moment of greatest exhilaration, Tyrion commanded the dragon to soar upwards at a pure horizontal angle. The dragon resisted but Tyrion insisted it obey him. Viserion flapped her wings wildly as it lost control and began to slide onto its back in the air.

Viserion screamed and Tyrion felt himself plummeting faster and faster, the ground moving closer to meet them in an inevitable crash. As they both spun towards the rocks and the sea, Tyrion imagined the grief and fury Daenerys would feel when she learned her Hand had crashed her child.

Tyron startled from the nightmare, his breath gasping. He lay awake until the dawn, listening to the echoes of the sea and wondering if his dream was a warning.


	2. Chapter 2

Tyrion spent most of the morning thinking of how foolish it would be to entrust him with the care of a dragon, given his drinking and other habits. Tyrion was familiar with many stories of knights and coachmen who had driven their horses and chariots into ditches under the influences of drink. He could not recall a mention in the annals of Fire and Blood of a drunken dwarf crashing a dragon into a tower or a tree, and he thought it would certainly be embarrassing if the history books remembered him as the first.

That morning, Varys noticed that Tyrion had dark circles under his eyes and seemed distracted. Varys, who knew Tyrion slept fitfully when troubled, asked his friend if there was anything in particular that was bothering him.

Tyrion told Varys about how Daenerys thought he might become a dragon-rider and about his own misgivings.

"Gathering other dragon-riders seems essential to the queen's campaign. How is she supposed to rule the Seven Kingdoms without any one else to command the dragons?" said Varys. "If this concerns you so much, maybe you could cut back on drinking."

Tyrion sighed, setting his booted feet on a table. "What gives you the will to live, Varys, if not fucking or drinking to excess?"

"Serving the realm is reward enough to me," said the eunuch primly while keeping both arms tucked under the sleeves of his long robe.

Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"Would you believe the pleasure of gossip and of meddling in other peoples' affairs?"

"That I might believe."

"I wonder if these worries are about more than your abilities as a dragon-rider." Varys scratched his chin and gave Tyrion a smile that told Tyrion he would know if his friend was lying. "Could your troubles also have to do with your feelings for our Queen?"

"I have no idea to what 'feelings' you could be referring," said Tyrion dryly.

Varys shook his head at in reproach. "This is partly your fault, you know. You shouldn't get a woman's children all excited about you if you don't feel ready to settle down and be a responsible father."

Tyrion scowled. He had no idea how he was supposed to be a father figure to young dragons, given the kind of man his own father had been. And it wasn't like his siblings provided any better examples of what good parenting might look like.

"I've always dreamed of flying. But the whole idea of entrusting me with one of her dragons…it would be better if the queen could find anyone else."

"But her dragon likes you," said Varys. "Viserion won't go near anyone else."

"Therein lies the trouble," Tyrion said, taking a sip of tea and wishing it were Dornish Red.

* * *

 

Daenerys received a raven that day from the Knights of the Vale of Arryn. The letter proclaimed that the lord Ser Willis Waynewood had decided to seek the queen's hand in marriage. It was one of many ravens Daenerys had received from suitors all over the Seven Kingdoms, offers Tyrion advised her to consider carefully.

As her Hand, Tyrion had suggested Daenerys leave behind her consort Daario Naharis so she could seek a political alliance through marriage in Westeros. However, every time Daenerys received such an offer, Tyrion felt a spike of jealousy. So far, she had refused all of the suits.

Daenerys, for the most part, seemed amused and annoyed by these ravens. "Do I really need the aid of the knights of Vale?" she asked as she paced around the Chamber of the Painted Table, looking at the map of Westeros before her. "Why do I require any more military might? I already have two armies, three dragons and the Tyrells and Martells as my allies."

"We will need to stabilize the realm once you take the Iron Throne," said Tyrion. "This marriage may help the Westerosi to see you as less of a foreign conqueror and more as a familiar part of their kingdom."

Daenerys pursed her lips. "I fear the people will consider me a foreign conqueror whatever I do or whoever I marry."

"You might as well give him a chance. Maybe one of these Westerosi lords will surprise you."

"I don't doubt it," said Daenerys. "If Westerosi lords are anything like Dothraki lords, Qartheen lords or Meereenese lords, I'm sure there will be nothing but surprises."

From the archness in her voice, Tyrion could tell she expected the surprises to be less of the romantic and more of the 'night, dark and full of terrors' variety.

Still, Daenerys agreed to at least open her doors to this knight of the Vale. Her guards and her Hand were to remain with her at all times and the knights were to be stripped of their weapons when they entered Dragonstone.

Servants opened the doors to admit Ser Willis Waynewood and his fighting men while Daenerys sat on her throne with Tyrion to her right. Ser Waynewood strode in and kneeled quickly before Queen Daenerys while looking up at her with a smirk upon his face.

Ser Willis was a large man with a mustache and goatee, dressed from head to toe in exotic furs. His shirt rode up to show off his legs and his rather unrealistic cockpiece, a genital-bedazzling fashion that had taken the Vale by storm

A young squire announced that the lord of the Vale would read a poem composed in the Queen's honor.

Ser Willis Waynewood cleared his throat dramatically. With a stiff and straight-faced expression, he recited the words on a piece of parchment.

"There is a Queen of the Kingdoms Seven

With a body as fragrant and fair as heaven

She glides along on her dragons three

This nimble nymph of the Narrow Sea

Her banner is red as the Red Waste

Her heart sweet-tempered, pure and chaste

Her violet eyes twinkle with sanguine cheer

Her voice is simple, soft and fair

All who see her swoon with love

As she sails like a shining star above

For the Maiden, the Mother but never the Crone

Is the dainty dragon of Dragonstone

If she shall but have me as her king

My heart will enflame and my soul take wing

I shall pledge my lordship and life to you

And forever be faithful, bold and true"

A panicked look entered Daenery's eyes as if she wished to call Drogon to blow fire at the lord and to sweep her far away, perhaps all the way back to Essos.

From her right side, Tyrion shook his head slightly, warning her off insulting this potential ally.

In her best 'I am but a young girl, I know very little,' voice Daenerys responded to Ser Waynewood.

"I know not what to say! Your words of affection have rendered me utterly speechless. I will need to consult my Hand for his wise council."

Ser Willis Waynewood bowed and left with his delegation.

Daenerys immediately turned to her Hand.

"Tyrion, that was the stupidest poem I have ever heard!"

"I have heard a few worse ones, my grace," said Tyrion, although he could only say this with a straight face because he had once endured Paetyr Baelish's lovelorn poetry about Catelyn Tully. "I think he was making an effort to compliment you."

"He called me the dainty dragon of Dragonstone!"

"I did not say it was a very good effort." Tyrion said.

Daenerys sighed deeply. With her arms crossed, she leaned back in her throne like a child disappointed with a nameday gift. "I called for a bear but they sent me a knight."

"You called for a bear?"

"Isn't there a Westerosi song like that…about a bored, frustrated woman saddled with a stuffy and repressed knight?"

"I believe you are deliberately misinterpreting the song."

Her eyes gleamed. "I would never do that."

Tyrion felt a fluttering in his chest at Daenerys's fiery glance. "No, of course you wouldn't," he replied with matching impertinence.

"What then?" asked Tyrion. "Do you want to consider getting to know more about this lord or have you already reached a conclusion from a single introduction?"

Daenerys's face hardened. "No. Absolutely not. I will not wed him."

"Very well. I will send word of your decision to the Vale."

As he left to deliver the news to the lord waiting outside the throne room, Tyrion wanted to feel some dismay. He knew it would be more appropriate as Daenerys's Hand if he was concerned that she was so stubborn, so set in her tastes and so indifferent to the sensibilities of her potential allies. However, he found himself feeling only pleasure at spending off another suitor.


	3. Chapter 3

Tyrion knew it would not be long before Daenerys confronted his "sweet sister" and he feared this encounter every day.

He didn't fear losing his own life in battle- not beyond the possibility that he might meet his father hell if he died- but was terrified of losing her. He knew his sister would stop at nothing to utterly destroy the young queen.

Usually, Tyrion would drown such anxiety in drinking, but he instead threw himself into trying to training Viserion. He designed a saddle like the one he used for riding and a ramp so that he might climb on her back.

He spent hours pouring over books about dragon lore and history, although he was already familiar with many of those books. He spent his time in between council meeting watching Viserion in her natural environment, carefully taking notes about her behavior, habits, physical attributes and interactions with the other dragons.

He noted that she preferred to rest from flying just around sunset, so each evening at that time he set out to meet her on the beach. He fed her dinner while petting her chin and she smiled indulgently, happy for these routine visits.

However, whenever he tried to convince the dragon to lean down and let him mount her back, the dragon hissed, shook her wings and flew off in a flurry.

"Well, Viserion, how exactly am I supposed to control you?" he asked her one evening as he watched her skeptically. "I am just one little half-man and you are an enormous, wild beast. Despite all this, we have to be ready for Cersei's army. What do you suppose might happen if my sweet sister arrived here tomorrow and it was just the two of us? How would we protect your mother then?"

He continued with a monologue directed more at himself than at its apparent audience.

"Don't you want to be a ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and fly about King's Landing while looking down on all your subjects?" Tyrion asked, petting the dragon's scales. "What if I promised you chambers full of jewels and gold? In all the old stories, dragons always love to sit upon piles of sparkling things."

The dragon gave him an indifferent look, like she didn't recognize any difference between Tyrion Lannister and other men. Tyrion didn't know whether he found this refreshing or vaguely insulting.

"Please, Viserion, don't so be stubborn. I'm only trying to help."

The dragon then rolled onto her back, acting much like Mrycella when the princess refused to take a nap.

Tyrion sighed as another attempt at cajoling the dragon failed. Every time he tried to train Viserion, it was the same. At first, she acted curious and interested in him, but the more he tried to get her to do what he wanted, the more she treated him with boredom and contempt. And ultimately if a dragon wanted to fly away from him, there was nothing he could do to stop it. At least she was not spitting fire at him, which was more than he could say for most people who encountered the dragons.

As a last effort, Tyrion sent an order to the Citadel purchasing all available books about dragons. Most of the books he received were useless, filled with history lessons Tyrion already knew or with myths that were inaccurate or irrelevant to his situation.

Finally, he found a humble-seeming tome with a brown cover. Inside, the title read as _Se Udrir Zaldrīzoti_ or The Language of Dragons.

The book described how to speak with dragons in their own language. It said that dragons communicated through a complex system involving physical gestures, facial expressions and empathetic conveyance of thoughts and feelings. Dragons, it said, did not take commands but acted on wise counsel. Dragons, the book claimed, appreciated compliments from their riders, but only certain kinds of compliments.

Most of all, dragons recognized a sincere heart. A dragon would see right through any one who was disrespected it or did not intend well for it.

The book's advice sounded somewhat imprecise and impractical. _A sincere heart._ Tyrion doubted he possessed such a thing. He was known throughout Westeros as a cunning and crafty imp, a reputation he sometimes capitalized on when facing his enemies. He wasn't sure how to show "sincerity' but he tried to look the dragon in the eyes in a way he hoped was respectful.

He considered what he loved most about dragons, why they had inspired him even before he had ever met a real one- their striking beauty, their powerful command of elements, their ability to survive against all odds and their transcendence of earth-bound limitations. He thought also of his fear of harming the dragon in any way if he failed as her rider.

 _To queen her is to kill her._ The cheesemonger's warning held true also for this young dragon. All the same, thought Tyrion, Viserion was clearly born to be a queen. To become anything less would be another kind of death.

In the clearest High Valyrian he could muster, Tyrion spoke.

 _"Aōha tīkuni issi sīr rōva se gevie."_ Your wings are so large and majestic.

 _"Aōha scales issi kostōba hae korzion se jehikagon hae iā qēlossās."_ Your scales are strong as steel and shine like stars.

 _"Aōha vīlībāzma limagon iksis se elēni hen iā hontes."_ Your battle cry is the song of a lark.

 _"Emā stolen ñuha prūmia hae āeksion."_ You have stolen my heart as if it were gold.

Tyrion blushed, feeling extremely silly and awkward. Anyone watching him, he was sure, would see a foolish dwarf waving his arms about while speaking in mangled Valyrian.

He imagined the dragon was probably judging him, thinking to herself, "Yeah, right, funny little human, you're only saying all this because you want to get into Mom's smallclothes."

Just as he was feeling extremely silly, Viersion came closer to him than she ever had before. A mysterious expression entered her face as she closed her eyes and breathed in with her large nose. She lowered her head low enough that she could blink up at him, her usually frightening and warlike aspect transformed into one of calm and gentleness.

The dragon licked Tyrion across his forehead, thumping her tail behind her as she did so.

Tyrion froze in shock. Before he could process what had happened, Viserion flapped her wings and flew away once more.

* * *

 

Daenerys Targaryen sat the Chamber of the Painted Table with piles of work she intended to finish. There were armies to manage, battle plans to study, finances to tally, ravens to sign and reconstruction of the castle to arrange. This was even before she began to consider her ever-changing plan to defeat the Lannister armies and retake the Iron Throne.

All of it felt so daunting that Daenerys didn't know where to begin. Not for the first time, she resented having no king beside her to share the responsibilities as a ruler.

Sometimes, she was not even sure she wanted a king. Kings often took all the power from queens. So many noblemen she had known had been foolish, haughty, warlike, selfish or disloyal. So few fulfilled her hopes of what a true king could be.

She tired at the thought of opening her gates to any more visiting lords or of greeting them demurely in her finery while they supped on the food of her court. Yet, when she thought of facing more battles alone, a bone-deep weariness set in her body.

The sound of the waves lapping over the stones of Dragonstone added to her drowsiness. The queen struggled to stay awake, but the recurrent rhythm of the waves overcame her determination. She found herself wondering if Rhaella had listened to the same waves- if her mother had sat by the same window while pregnant or still a maid.

She dropped her head into her arms and closed her eyes, falling into deep slumber while surrounded by maps, battle plans and paperwork.

_In Daenerys's dream, she was a child searching for the House with the Red Door but she couldn't tell which house was hers because all of the doors were red._

_She walked by the russet horse hide of a Dothraki tent. She arrived at a Quartheen door embellished with rubies and amentests. Next, she rode past a Meereneese door of rust-colored clay and bloody handprints._

_There were so many houses with red doors but none of them were_ the _house with the red door. She began believing that maybe the House with the Red Door was actually a whorehouse. That would explain why the lights were red but all of the world was so cold._

_Over red wastes and red seas she travelled until she reached a high, stony door strewn with a scarlet banner of Fire and Blood. She knew this was Dragonstone, where she had travelled for so long to arrive and yet she still felt cold._

_Just as she was despairing of every really finding a home, she came across a crimson door bearing a lion emblem in faded gold. As she approached it, she felt warmth surrounding her and she knew it was the door she had travelled so long to reach. As soon as she recognized it for what it was, a key turned and the door opened._

_On the other side of the red door, she saw a sunrise sky the colors of fire and gold. Two figures cast shadows against the sun. She knew they were herself and her Hand, though they were not riding as a Queen and her Hand would, with one higher and the other lower. She and Tyrion were flying side by slide, perfectly balanced, each riding a dragon and each bearing a crown._

She woke to the sound of waves crashing against the fortress walls.


	4. Chapter 4

Viserion continued acting strangely. Sometimes, when the dragon met with Tyrion, she would fly in a circle around his head, performing dives and flips as if to show off. Sometimes, she would slowly approach him until she was close enough to lick his hand while she thumped her tail.

However, whenever Tyrion made an attempt to climb up and mount the dragon, she skittered and flew off.

Tyrion read more books about the Targaryen dynasty, hoping for some clue to explain Viserion's strange behavior.

As a boy, he had just thought of how gratifying it would fly higher than the people who mocked or pitied him or to rain dragon-fire on his cruel sister and father. As he thought more about the stories of dragons and dragon-riders, he began to wonder whether he would really feel empowered by the dragon's strength or overwhelmed by awesome responsibility.

Maybe Viserion was right to be wary, to approach him one step at a time. It was something of a miracle that Daenerys's dragon trusted him at all, given that he wasn't a Targaryen relative.

Then again, he had led the charge at the Blackwater. He had given council at King's Landing and advised Queen Daenerys at Meereen. Maybe he was capable of taking charge, of making decisions in the heat of combat from the vantage of the sky.

However, when he would look over the illustrations of tall, comely princes throughout the pages of Fire and Blood, he would wonder who he was fooling.

Although the history of Targaryen leadership contained great variety- exiles and conquests, stunning victories and foolhardy defeats, great reforms and horrible tyranny- the dynasty was remarkably consistent in its physical image.

As he flipped page after page of Targaryens princes with their long silvery hair, he knew he looked nothing like a dragon-rider and everything like a dwarf and a Lannister.

Tyrion sighed as he put down his books. He might be able to imagine himself as a heroic warrior in his wildest fantasies, but he knew how anyone observing Daenerys's reign would perceive him- as a joke or a horror.

* * *

 

Viserion was not the only one acting strangely recently, Tyrion observed.

In Small Council, Tyrion noticed that Daenerys seemed to be behaving oddly as well. His Queen could hardly focus on reports or maintain her usual composure in at council. She missed meals, mumbled distracted responses to her advisors and kept staring out at the windows overlooking the sea, like some whimsical princess out of _Fire and Blood._

He worried about whether she would be prepared to handle Cersei's army while she was in such an odd mood. She was scheduled to meet with a delegation from The North, but Tyrion feared what impression she would send while behaving so unlike her usual commanding self.

One evening, the Small Council reviewed the ravens from unmarried noblemen seeking an audience with the Queen. Tyrion tried to explain the tactical advantages of each potential suitor. The wealthy merchant of House Blackfyre could help pay to rebuild the Sept of Baelor. A marriage with a Dornish prince might heal the bad blood between Kings Landing and the Dornish people. The widowed lord of Hightower could provide House Targaryen with an heir.

"Which of these suitors should we invite to Dragonstone?"

Daenerys crossed her arms as she looked over each of the letters.

"There is no point. I will not marry any of them."

The Small Council members looked among themselves in shock. Varys interjected. "Are you certain? We cannot afford to overlook any opportunity to secure your claim."

"No, we cannot," said Daenerys, standing suddenly. "Tyrion, may I have a moment to speak with you? Alone?"

The Small Council existed the Chamber of the Painted Table, leaving the Queen with her Hand.

She sat down, meeting him at eye level. "Tryion, a few nights ago. I had a dream…"

She explained the contents of her dream- of wandering past red doors until she arrived at a door painted Lannister red, of opening the door and of seeing herself and Tyrion, the two of them flying on dragons while bearing crowns on their heads.

"Only a few times in my life have I had dreams so powerful. The last time was when I dreamed about caring for my eggs, before my children hatched. I think…I think my dream means that we should wed!"

Tyrion nearly choked on his glass of water. He was not sure he had heard her correctly and could not think of a cognizant reply.

"What…what would you advise? As my Hand, I mean." Daenerys began to blush and placed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I know it seems sudden of me to say so, but it really does make a lot of sense if you think of it, I mean, as a political strategy. This could be good for my claim- an alliance- I hadn't thought of before- but…what do you think?"

"I think you have a soft heart, my grace," said Tyrion.

_"A soft heart?!"_

"My grace, do not patronize me. I know lately you have grown desperate looking for a suitable partner for alliance, but I know I am not exactly what maidens dream of."

Daenerys frowned. "Why? Because you are short? Why should that matter to me? In my dream, we were both so much higher up on our dragons than anyone else!"

"And House Lannister has committed many crimes."

"As has House Targaryen! Haven't we always talked of breaking the wheel? All the more reason why it would make sense for us to wed. Hasn't intermarriage produced enough corruption in both of our Houses?"

It was beginning to dawn on Tyrion that Daenerys was actually taking the idea seriously. The only thing that made sense about her idea was the alliance with House Lannister. After all, his House did possess a great deal of wealth, if not a great reputation. He could also see how she might fear the kind of inbreeding that had produced Joffrey and Viserys.

"If it is an alliance with House Lannister you are after, Jaimie is unmarried. We could release his vows to the Kingsguard."

"Jaime?! That baby still stuck in the womb with your sister?! The Kingslayer?!" She looked more nauseous about the idea than about the proposition of marrying Sir Willis Waynewood.

"And yet you think a kinslayer would make a better choice? A man who murdered his own father?"

"Well, yes, if his kin deserve to be slayed. That would be one way to beak the wheel I keep talking about…"

"But a dwarf who killed his own mother?"

"Tyrion," she said sadly. "That was not your fault, any more than my mother's death was my fault. Besides, how do you know for certain that she died because of you? Perhaps the midwife was incompetent or the poor woman was so tired from raising your siblings and putting up with your tyrannical father that she simply couldn't take any more."

"Daenerys…"

"No!" she stood again, assuming the pose a conquering queen on the warpath against an enemy in her mind's eye. "You're always trying to tell me that I shouldn't believe what some witch had to say about my future, but you believe everything Cersei Lannister has to say about you."

Tyrion bristled at the accusation. It was not just Cersei's cruelty that got to him, he knew. It was all the people who had ever called him an Imp or Demon Monkey. It how he would dishonor her reign if he played any role in it beyond that of her clever advisor.

"It is true that I hardly look the part. I know that you cannot be interested in me in that way."

"So you do not look like some pampered boy who has spent his whole life eating cheeses and sweetcakes while smallfolk rubbed his feet, without enduring any battles or struggles? You have always been handsome to me. Besides, dragons do not choose their mates by their appearance but based on sense of smell."

"And what exactly do you smell of me?" said Tyrion, smirking so as not to tear up from the absurdity of it all.

Her violent eyes sparkled. "The rarest thing in all of Essos or Westeros. A grown man."

"Is that supposed to be a jape?

"No, not at all," she said, frustrated and hurt that he thought she was joking. "Tyrion, I don't need a tall man. Neither does the Seven Kingdoms. What we need is a man who is a king."

Tyrion clenched his fists to keep from shaking any more than he already was.

Some secret, dangerous part of him thrilled at her offer, but the rest of him knew the truth would crush his heart. How dare she claim he was what she needed? She had to be the most foolish, idealistic woman he had ever set his eyes on or else the most duplicitous.

"My grace, what you are suggesting is complete madness."

 _"Madness?"_ Her violet eyes narrowed.

"What else would you call putting so much stock in dreams?"

"It was a very vivid dream!"

Her glare was akin to Drogon's gaze before the black dragon unleashed fire and blood. For a moment, Tyrion felt deeply afraid of his queen.

Then, her furious expression cracked and in its place appeared something far more frightening; for the first time since he had known her, Daenerys looked defeated.

"Maybe you are right. I don't know what I'm saying. It was just a dream. A silly dream. I should not have brought it up."

"My grace?" He moved to place his hand on her arm and she jolted it away.

"Please, just forget that I said anything."

She turned her back to him and exited the Chamber.

He was left alone with the painted map and a feeling of hollow victory.


	5. Chapter 5

Tyrion flipped his Hand pin over in his hands as he wrestled with his thoughts.

As Daenery's Hand, he knew was his duty to stop her from chasing dreams that could dismantle her conquest. It would ruin everything she had worked for if she found herself in a disastrous alliance.

But as a man, he knew he was truly fucked. He had been in love with Daenerys since before he ever knew her, but had never really believed he might return those feelings. If it turned out she was toying with him or condescending out of pity he didn't know how he could take it.

He was still staring at the pin when Varys sat down in the chair beside him.

"I'm so confused, Varys," said Tyrion. "I'm sober and I don't know anything. Who am I anymore?"

"What happened? You look like you've seen the Night King himself."

Tyrion sighed, feeling that was not far off from how he actually felt. He described how Daenerys had gotten it into her head somehow that  _he_ of all people should become her king, all based on some dream she had had. Varys didn't look as surprised at this turn of events as Tyrion expected.

"Obviously, you can see the problem in all of this," Tyrion said.

"Yes, I can see that," said Varys. "Your problem is you're not doing any of this right."

"Not doing any of  _what_ right?" said Tyrion, fixing a stare that conveyed his diminished tolerance for games.

Varys chuckled. "Wooing a princess, of course. According to all the songs, aren't you supposed to do something other than just sitting around sulking? Isn't the thing to do to hold a tourney, invite over all the pretty maidens in the kingdom and declare your favorite to be the Queen of Love and Beauty?"

"Once again, Varys, the meaning of your words fly right by me."

Varys wagged his finger at Tyrion's wilful obtuseness. "How is she supposed to know how beautiful you think she is if you don't make some kind of courtly gesture or perform some grand heroic deed?"

"How could she not know this? She's only the most beautiful woman in world."

"Yes, but do you think that  _she_ knows that?" asked Varys pointedly. "With no mother or father to tell her such? With a brother who sold her maidenhead off to a Dothraki warlord in exchange for an army? With slaveholders and assassins hounding her constantly and your own sweet sister calling out for her blood?

"The queen is beloved by thousands." 

"Ah, and do you think there is that much of a difference between those who call her their  _Mhysa_  and those who call her a foreign whore?" asked Varys. "I have been watching Daenerys from afar during her many years in exile. Over those years, she has been called by destiny to play the roles of the Stranger, the Mother and the Warrior many times over, but since when has Daenerys Targaryen had the luxury of acting like the Maiden?"

Tyrion felt a flood of guilt. Daenerys seemed so often warm and nurturing or stern and commanding that it was difficult to think of her on such terms. She did not seem particularly young when she was recounting her lists of accomplishments, leading Dothraki and Unsullied armies or negotiating with merchants and nobles from all across Essos and Westeros. Then again, neither did Tyrion feel as young as he was in years.

"No, she does not often act like the Maiden. Only when she is trying to trick someone into thinking she is naive or weak."

"And do you think maidens to be naive and weak?" Varys asked in a leading tone.

"Maiden, Mother, Father, Smith, Warrior. What difference does it make?" asked Tyrion. "I've never believed in the Faith of the Seven. Well, maybe in the Stranger…but the rest of it always seemed like a bunch of nonsense. It's always, 'the light of this,' the light of that.' Too much light for this rotten world. Besides, in that faith the Maiden is always matched with the Warrior."

"That's true enough," said Varys, furtively sipping his tea.

* * *

Daenerys fled down the beach. She ran until she reached Drogon, who was lying in the sand. When she tried to pat his spiny black back, he grumbled and curled up into a ball. Rhaegal was flying above the waves and she had no idea where Viserion had gotten to.

Feeling completely exhausted, she wandered out towards the ocean. Thinking of how she had behaved towards Tyrion in the Room of the Painted Chamber, Daenerys felt mortified.

Had she misjudged his feelings? Did he not want her? So often he seemed to be flirting with her when they played cyvasse or during one of their debates, but maybe he was like that with all women and she had only seen what she wanted to see.

She knew she had scared off men before, just by being herself. Maybe he really feared she would go mad, like her ancestors before her. Perhaps he preferred someone his own size? Or someone who was more similar to how women behaved in his own culture?

Maybe he thought it was unladylike, pursuing a man so directly? Or worse; Had he taken her suggestion as a command, since he was her Hand and she was the Queen? She had never meant to force him into anything.

She was seized with a powerful yearning for a ship that would deliver her out to sea, so that she could sail away from all her responsibilities and never have to face Tyrion again.

As she caught her breath she realized that someone was behind her.

She turned around to see Missandei, who was standing with a worried look on her face.

"What are you doing out here? Your Hand has not appeared since Council and I am concerned about you. Has something happened between yourself and Tyrion?"

"I am fine, Missandei. Just a difference of strategic opinion has come up between us."

"A difference of strategic opinion?" Missandei raised her eyebrows.

She told her friend about how she had suggested to Tyrion that he might become her king and how she had argued all the pragmatic reasons why this was a good idea.

"And," said Missandei, "While you were telling Tyrion Lannister of these  _very practical, reasonable_ reasons for a political alliance, by any chance did you also tell him how you really feel?"

Daenerys felt tears escaping her eyes against her efforts at composure. "I do not want him to think that I am mad. Or some foolish child."

"It does not make you mad to have feelings, Daenerys," said Missandei sadly. "Do you know how I realized I was in love with Grey Worm? It was when he told me of his fear of losing me. The Unsullied are raised to never show fear, but it was showing his own heart that made me realize what I also feel towards him."

Daenerys was quiet for a moment, thinking over these words. Her own feelings frightened her deeply. She had thought she had been in love with Drogo, but those feelings had turned out to be misguided and confused. She had spent so long pursuing her brother's dreams, adapting to different cultural traditions or trying to live up to the expectations of her people. The only time she ever felt like she was  _really_ following her heart was when she with her dragons. And then there was the scarier question.

"But what if he does not feel the same way?"

Well, there is something we can do about that!" Missandei said, pressing her hands together excitedly. "We can help him to fall in love with you! We must find you a new dress and new style for your hair!"

"I already have many dresses," Daenerys said.

"Yes, you have so  _many_  dresses for waging war, ruling cities and negotiating with men like Hizdahr zo Loraq. But do you have  _any_ dresses at all for dancing with the prince of your dreams?"

"I am not some silly maiden wishing for a prince to come and rescue me from my troubles. I am a mother and a queen," said Daenerys proudly.

"But you are also just a young girl, Daenerys," said Missandei. Coming from her friend, these familiar words held no ring of insult, only of compassion.

"Yes, Missandei, I am just a young girl." Daenerys echoed with an honest note of acceptance.

The two friends returned to the castle and to Daenerys's chambers. They were just beginning to discuss options for her dresses and her hair when a captain of her Dothraki guard rushed at her door with a message.

The fleet of Queen Cersei and Euron Greyjoy had been spotted on the opposite shore. Dragonstone was under attack.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just a young girl. I long for your reviews.


	6. Chapter 6

Daenerys rushed to the shore to see the black sails of the Iron Fleet, headed by Euron Greyjoy’s flagship, the Silence. 

The pirate ships reached her shore and men with axes and torches began looting and burning along the coast of Dragonstone. The Dothraki and Unsullied tried to hold them back but most of her army had been diverted to defending her allies in Dorne, Highgarden and the North. Her Dothraki, though unbeatable on land, were frightened by the huge ships and their ominous sails.  

Daenerys ran over to Drogon and tried to provoke the dragon to fight while Dragon lay lethargically in the sand.

“Get up, _now,_ Drogon _!_ Can’t see that we’re under attack?  
  
“I don’t care,” replied the dragon through their bond.

“You don’t care? Come on, Drogon, it’s time to _fight.”_  
  
The dragon withdrew from its mother and snarled. “Nothing matters. Nobody loves me.”

“I love you, Drogon!”

“No you don’t! You think I’m ugly and bad and that’s why my new dad ran away!”

“Drogon, that’s not true and we don’t have time to argue about this…”

Rhaegel swooped overhead to make an airborne strike at the ships. The green-colored dragon blasted several ships. The Iron Fleet retaliated by shooting squid-fishing harpoons into the air. 

Rhaegel weaved and screamed as a harpoon barely clipped his wing.

Daenerys tried to yell at Rhaegel to fall back, but her child didn’t hear her over the sound of the sea.

Just then, the Silence landed on the shore. Out walked a woman dressed all in black, Cersei Lannister, the Queen of the Seven Kindgoms. At her side was a mountain of a man with small, ruthless eyes.

“Seize her!” Cersei Lannister ordered the enormous man. The man grabbed Daenerys and roughly tied her hands around her back. Watching this man apprehend his mother, Drogon flapped and failed as though trying to fly but caught by its own weight.

“You shouldn’t have come here!” Daenerys warned the queen. “If you come any closer, my dragons will…”

Cersei smiled sadistically. “Your dragons will… _what?_ According to my spies among the Knights of the Vale, your dragons haven’t been very powerful weapons lately.”

As if to apply salt to a wound, Cersei smiled with false pity. “Oh, did you _really_ think that a noble lord of the Seven Kingdoms like Ser Willis Wayneswood was interested in _you? You,_ the Mad King’s lunatic daughter, used up by Dothraki barbarians, with your monstrous ‘children,’” She spoke the word ‘children’ with the highest contempt.

“ _Mother of dragons!”_ sneered Cersei. “If you were a _real_ mother, you would understand why I have to do what I am doing know.”

Cersei nodded at Gregor Clegane, who kicked Daenerys until she landed face-down in the sand.

Cersei gloated above her with a wild light in her eyes. “You see, my dear brother Tyrion once orchestrated to have my daughter Mrycella removed from King’s Landing and sent to the southern wastes of Dorne. It was this treachery that caused my daughter’s death! On the day I discovered his wicked scheme, I made Tyrion a promise. That one day, when he thought he was safe and happy, I would turn his joy to ash in his mouth and then he would know that the debt had been paid! And after all the ruin and evil he has brought to House Lannister, imagine how furious I was to learn that the source of all his love and joy was _you.”_

Daenerys looked up at Queen Cersei with confusion. This felt like a cruel mistake. “You think that Tyrion…loves me?” 

The queen laughed. “Of course he does. A foreign whore who doesn’t know her place? A crazy bitch obsessed with _dragons?_ You are _exactly_ his type.” She said this last piece witheringly, as if it were a devastating insult to be admired by Tyrion Lannister. 

But Daenerys felt a strange spark reignited in her chest. Tyrion…maybe he _did_ care about her after all! This spark of hope was followed by cold panic. Tyrion! He going to be killed and nothing she could do would protect him!  
  
She shook as she struggled to stand up with her knees bruised, the ropes tied behind her back and The Mountain hovering over her.

Just then, the queen called off her guards to make way for Tyrion, who was stumbling towards them through the wreckage.

“You’re late, little brother,” said Cersei. “You almost didn’t make it.”

Tyrion bowed at her feet.  “Take me instead! You can have me, just leave her be! You don’t have to do this, Cersei!”

“Oh, I think I do,” she said.

“Please, sister! It’s me you want, isn’t it? Isn’t _it_ , Ser Pissy Kitty?”  Tyrion grinned wickedly, using the nickname that used infuriate his sister whenever he used it on her in childhood.  

“I’m sorry,” he added, with sarcastic humility. “I meant, Lady Baratheon, Queen of the Seven Rebellious Landmasses of Unhappy Unrest, Less Pretty Spare Jaimie, First of her Name. Or was it Thirsy Cersei? I forget if that one was for you being so thirsty for drink, or for power, or just for our brother’s you-know-what…”

“You! Little! Monster!” screamed Cersei at the top of her lungs. 

But one scream was even louder- the roar of Viserion as she swirled through the sky. The cream-colored dragon sparkled in the sun as she flew over Dragonstone and landed at the right side of Tyrion.

 _"Dracarys!"_ Tyrion said. Vision blew a stream of fire at Cersei and the Mountain, turning both to ashes. 

She then blew a smaller spurt of flame at Daenery’s wrists, incinerating the ropes while leaving Daenerys free and unburnt.

Viserion lowered her neck. Tyrion scratched the dragon on her nose before climbing on her back.

Daenerys, filled with renewed hope, cried out to her own dragon in her mind. “Drogon! Help us!”  
  
“Mama, I’m here!” Drogon replied as he flew in to join his sister.

The two dragon-riders and their dragons took off over the walls of Dragonstone. They danced above the beach, blowing fire at the Ironborn looters who were fighting with the Dothraki and Unsullied on the beach. They drove over the water, joined by Rhaegel as they charged.

The sails of the Silence erupted in flame. The carved image of a silent maiden on its prow fell into the sea along with Euorn Greyjoy.

Without their leader, the rest of the Iron Fleet sailed off in retreat. Tyrion and Daenerys managed to scorch several of the ship as they flew over the sea, while others scattered and departed.

By the time they had finished flying all around the island of Dragonstone, all of the Iron Fleet had been consumed by fire or retreated from battle. Her heart was pumping as she turned to looked over at Tyrion, who looked back at her from his place in the air beside her.

“Ivestrangi jikagon lenton!” she yelled triumphantly at him.

“Kessa, ivestragī's jikagon!” he yelled in return.

_“Let’s go home!”_

_“Yes, let’s go!”_


	7. Chapter 7

After the battle, when they had landed back on the ground, he asked her if she meant to march on King’s Landing and take the Iron Throne now that Cersei was dead. Daenerys said she no longer wanted to go to King’s Landing. She had decided to make her seat of power there, in Dragonstone.

“The truth is I’ve never even been to King’s Landing. That was always my brother’s dream. But this is where I was born. And I find living near to the ocean to be peaceful, in its way." 

Tyrion was surprised by her change of heart, after such strong dedication to a single path. Then again, the Dragon Queen had been surprising him a lot lately. “I also have no strong desire to return to King’s Landing, to tell the truth. I have few happy memories of my life there. And really it does not seem that either the Lannisters or the Targaryens were ever quite happy living in that city. 

Daenerys shrank from his gaze as she looked out at the ocean. “Tyrion…” she asks quietly. “Do you really think that I’m mad? I know what everyone always says about Targaryens. That at our birth the gods flip a coin to decide if a Targaryen will be brilliant or mad, but I’m not sure if I’m either. 

Hearing the sadness in her voice, Tyrion hated ever having contributed to her doubting herself. “In Westeros, the Septas often say that the gods give all their children gifts. Though I'm not sure if it's true. I’ve never liked Septas very much.”

“I don’t know. You were given to me in an actual box. That seems pretty on-the-nose, even for gods.” 

“Maybe the gods are just fucking with us at this point.”  
  
“Maybe…”

He turned to her and looked up at her violet eyes. “I don’t think you’re mad, Daenerys,” he said, “But even if I did, I would still love you. Besides, I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for misfits and broken things. I suppose that’s one reason why I’ve always liked stories about dragons.”

“I have a soft sport in my heart for broken things too,” said Daenerys archly. “Like wheels, chains and vows of chastity made by brothers in black before they meet the Mother of Dragons.”

“Oh so it’s brooding brothers in black you prefer?”

“Graddakh, Tyrion!” she said, swearing in Dothraki. “It’s a _fantasy._ Don’t tell me you’ve never dreamed of seducing these Septas of yours away from their holy vows. Oh, so that’s _only me too_ _now?_

“No, mostly it’s dragons I dream of,” said Tyrion somberly.

“It’s mostly dragons I dream of too.”  

They watched the waves of the ocean while the dragons behind them flapped their wings. 

* * *

 It was announced throughout the Seven Kingdoms that a tournament would be to held on Dragstone in the summer, to celebrate the nameday of Daenerys Targaryen and the defeat of Cersei Lannister by the Mother and Father of Dragons.

The tournament would be a cyvasse tournament. Whoever won would receive the honor of crowning the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Players from throughout the Seven Kingdoms and beyond came for a chance at glory and renown. The Dornish, the Tyrells and the Martells all made fine standings in the contest. Sansa Stark even managed to conquer the board for a few rounds before falling to Varys’s hand. In the end, the tournament came down to the two competitors most intent on impressing the queen present- Jorah Mormont and Tyrion Lannister.

Like others who grew up in the long nights of Bear Island, Jorah was well versed in the game of cyvasse. Jorah somehow managed to make it past round after round even when it seemed like he might lose to more refined opponents. 

However, Jorah kept trying to use all his other pieces to protect his dragons, while Tyrion was willing to put them into play. Tyrion’s gameplay was bolder and more reckless than the Bear's, meeting every attack with a cunning counter-attack.

In the end, Jorah was just another contender who went down on Tyrion’s path to victory. The lords cheered as he took the crown of roses and walked to the seat of honor, to lay the rosy wreath on Queen Daenerys’s head before the the assembled lords and ladies.

“You were the only one who could have defeated me,” he whispered in her ear as the assembled lords clapped.

As she smiled in her blue gown with her hair done up in delicate curls and with a maiden-like blush on her face, Tyrion wondered if perhaps Daenerys had already defeated him at whatever game she was playing, not that he particularly minded.

* * *

 

Later that night, she waited in bed until the door to her chambers opened.

In he walked, dressed all in black with a thick cape trailing behind him.

“Who is it that comes to my bedchambers at such an hour?” she said in a girlish voice full of feigned surprise.

“It is I, Hugor Hill! Brother of the Nightswatch!  Living out my lonesome days on the Wall as penance for my crimes! I am here to protect you from the dangers and terrors of the night!”

Daenerys tried not to laugh as she replied with a naughty twinkle in her violet eyes. “And what crimes would those be, Hugor Hill?”

“Oh, terrible _, horrible_ crimes. I was placed on trial for the murder of the king, my own nephew. I was told if I confessed, the court would show me mercy and allow me to take the black and embark on a lifetime of repentant celibacy.”

“And did you do it? Kill your nephew?” she asked, her voice full of prurient curiosity.

“Of course I did it, that little bastard had it coming! No offense to bastards everywhere!” 

“So now,” he said, with great angst, “I spend my nights on the Wall, in bitter cold, with no company but that of fellow miscreants and ne’re-do-wells... and alas, deprived of life’s greatest pleasures…”

“Lands to hold, Lords to serve?”

“Ladies to serve, my grace.”

“That is a great shame Hugor,” she said, as she positioned herself near to him on her bed. “for I am much in need of lord to _serve_ me on this most cold and dreadful night... 

He dramatically placed a hand over his eyes while gesturing the other hand in the air. “Please, desist from your insinuations, woman! I am the Sword in the Darkness! I am the Watcher on the Wall! You cannot expect me to break such a sacred and honorable vow!” 

“Well, suppose I wouldn’t expect anything but the _very_ best behavior from a ‘sword in the darkness’… or, um, a…watcher…on the wall…”

She winked at him and they both began laughing at the ridiculousness of the seduction. 

 “Yes, absolutely not! I must remain steadfast in to my ancient vows.”

“But surely it was not mentioned in your vows whether or not you could not simply be in the same room as a young maiden….while she was undressing…”  
  
“Well, no, I don’t remember that being in the vows.”

“Or that you could not touch her _here_...” she said, placing his hand against her breast.

“Now, that you mention it, that was also not directly stated either way…”

 “Or to do _this_...”  

 They continued with their play until she stopped teasing poor Hugor Hill of the Brothers Black and began crying his true name in earnest. 

* * *

 

The next morning, Tyrion met Daenerys at the dragon pit, where she was feeding Rhaegal, Viserion and Drogon. He greeted the dragons in Valyrian and pet them each on their noses, spending extra time checking in with Viserion.

Then, he let Daenerys know that he had one more gift for her on her nameday.

The gift was an import from Dorne, brought to Dragonstone in a roomier box than the one in which Tyrion had traveled across the Narrow Sea.

Inside the box was a fuzzy lion cub with golden fur, tawny spots and brown eyes. The cub rolled around as it pawed at a toy ball. Tyrion scratched the lion cub on its stomach and it purred and flicked its tail.

“Who is this?!” said Daenerys.

“Do not worry. Joannen’s claws have been trimmed. He is very friendly, if a touch persnickety.”

“Joannen?”

“I named him after my mother- if you like that name?”  
  
“It is a perfect name,” said Daenerys, already completely enamored by the small cub staring up at her with its brown eyes. “Oooooh, he is so beautiful!”

Her dragons approached, settling in a circle around the new addition to the family.

“But…Tyrion…” said Daenerys, “I don't know anything about training lions.”

“I believe I could help with that,” Tyrion said.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So my Daenerys/Tyrion story is finished. The story took a while to write all the way through, but I'm glad I could finished it as I envisioned. I welcome any feedback, comments or general commiseration about how their characters were treated in the last season.


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